


Mr Loverman

by robertstanion



Series: PEIPHQ Shenanigans [22]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Crying, M/M, PTSD, Songfic, alcohol tw, jays 20 day songfic challenge, why the fuck, youre probably like jay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25729369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robertstanion/pseuds/robertstanion
Summary: How John and Xander deal with the effects of PTSD
Relationships: Xander Lee/John McNamara
Series: PEIPHQ Shenanigans [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764349
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Mr Loverman

**Author's Note:**

> all tws have been listed in the tags!!!!!
> 
> The song:  
> Mr Loverman: Rick Montgomery (AKA the one from tiktok)
> 
> also the lyrics are in italics in the centre of the screen thank u goodbye

Xander came home, and life was supposed to go on as usual, yet somebody couldn’t go a day without alcohol anymore. Though it was in small doses, it was enough to hurt him more than any fight ever had. He should have accepted the help when it was first offered to him. Him and Xander were okay now, after their fight, and Xander was working on ensuring the portal remained closed, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

John couldn’t breathe as he gripped the counter tighter, forcing back a panic attack. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to scream about all his pains that were troubling him, about the constant fear of The Black and White and he _couldn’t._ He had to stay strong, because what good was a general with PTSD? He hid it, otherwise he’d be fired, and nobody else was forcing him to come clean about his diagnosis, and neither was Xander. He knew, of course he knew, that as soon as he stepped foot back in PEIP, on the first shift since his leave, he’d fall. He’d fall hard, and need more meds, and need more therapy. He’d be on desk duty for a long while, not only for his injuries to heal, but for his mind to calm if it could.

He knew Xander was trying, he knew, and John wouldn’t hold him down for that. Xander was always trying, and it was harsh for John to wish for more when he knew he wouldn’t receive it. Yes, he’d saved Howard Goodman, and yes, he’d possibly stopped a nuclear world war, but he wanted for his trauma to vanish, and nobody had the power to make it go away automatically. With that in mind, he turned to the one thing he knew comforted him on a long day at work. Alcohol. He turned to alcohol, and he turned to alcohol hard. It was his last choice, and a reach for consolation, but he knew that if the drink and the drugs he took couldn’t flush out the images he experienced on a weekly, then he didn’t know who he’d turn to.

_I’m headed straight for the floor_

John’s knees buckled as the alcohol began to take effect again. He hit the kitchen floor hard, praying he hadn’t made so much of a sound as to alarm his working husband, who sat on his laptop in the living room, unable to go into PEIP in person. Pushing himself off of the floor, he went to grab the counter, falling back on to the floor, a shooting pain stabbing at his spine. He winced, clutching the bottle of alcohol in his hand as he leaned against the kitchen cabinet. He shut his eyes, tears falling down. Xander would start to get suspicious. It did _not_ take this long to make a cup of coffee, yet somehow, it _did_ take this long for John to get wasted.

_The alcohol served it’s tour_

John set the bottle down beside him, the contents now empty, his head spinning. He wiped his mouth clean, ignoring the salty taste of his tears on his tongue. His clothes felt too tight, or maybe it was the sudden awareness of his panic attack beginning to get stronger. Instinctively, he began to claw at his shirt, wanting it off. He felt like he was being strangled. A panic attack while drunk never ended well, and this time wouldn’t be any more different than the other times. It would end the same. It always did.

_And it’s headed for my skin_

He forced himself to open his eyes. Xander would be getting concerned by now. He couldn’t hear anything aside from the close drum of his own heartbeat, and the irregular pattern of his breathing. He couldn’t hear if Xander was calling out for him. He was starting to get worse, starting to spiral further. The hairs on his arms stuck up as he felt a cold breath on the back of his neck, and it caused John to curl up tighter. He wasn’t aware of his sobbing. He wasn’t aware of anything.

_Leaving me daft and dim_

His vision was blurred with the effect of alcohol alongside his tears, which seemed to fall on a conveyer belt like mechanism. They didn’t want to stop, and they wouldn’t stop. He took a sharp intake of breath, making him cough out of force, and the cough soon turned to a dry throat. He reached for the closest drink to make it stop, which happened to be the bottle of alcohol in his hand, which made him feel worse. After a spontaneous raged flush flooded John’s body, he threw the bottle at the wall. Usually the smash would be satisfying, but today it was concerning. He succumbed to his panic attack, passing out on the floor, just before Xander rushed in the room, going pale at the sight.

_I’ve got this shake in my legs_

John woke up in bed, Xander’s hands wrapped tightly around him, one fiddling with the loose strands of his golden hair, only stopping to feel John’s heartbeat. He grimaced at the amount of light, wanting to push out of Xander’s arms and go back to drinking, so that’s what he attempted, suddenly becoming aware of the consequences of the alcohol. He wanted to cry. He wanted to be strong again. He was angry, angry with himself, and he hit on Xander’s wrists, trying to get off the bed, realising how weak he truly was. He was shaking uncontrollably, and John was getting scared.

_Shaking the thoughts from my head_

He was cold. His hairs were still standing upright all over his body, and the only warmth he could feel came from his own husband’s beating heart and the duvet cover over him. He couldn’t tell the time, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. How long had he been passed out for? Did he want to know? He wasn’t sure. He could hear Xander’s voice, attempting to calm him, but John was in such a state of panic, it was hard to trust.

_But who put these waves in the door_

He tried to keep pushing out of Xander’s arms, and every time he wrestled with the physicist, he was held tighter. He eventually gave up and gripped the fabric of his husband’s shirt tightly in his own hands, allowing them to curl up into fists. He couldn’t stop crying at that point. He wasn’t able to force any words out, as they seemed to tangle into unending knots in the depths of his throat, lingering in his chest. His heart pounded as he let himself cry. He was exhausted of having to stay up, of having to take meds, of having flashbacks. He wanted to move on, and he couldn’t. Everything was a reminder of The Black and White, everything was a reminder of his old mentor, and nothing was a reminder of his newer, safer life. Everything was faded.

_I crack and out I pour_

More tears began making their way down the endless tear tracks, that had become a solemn river, capturing the general’s true feelings in a single priceless photograph. His tired, blue-grey eyes were constantly clouded with the memories he’d made that were impossible to shake free. They were latched on to John’s mind and soul like a stubborn vine that wouldn’t let go. The original John McNamara was gone. _He_ was gone.

_I’m Mr. Loverman_

He allowed himself to be cradled by his husband, hearing his soft voice consoling him as he cried. Flames poured out of his eyes, dancing down his cheeks, dripping on to the duvet cover. Some were extinguished by the coolness of his husband’s hands, but others continued to burn.

_And I miss my lover, man_

He leaned in further, desperate for Xander’s reassurance. He felt helpless. All at once, a string of apologies came out of John’s mouth, the knot in his throat untangling. Xander shushed him again, a hand running through John’s hair. He wasn’t judging, he was assisting.

_I’m Mr. Loverman_

The flames died down shortly after, leaving John’s breathing sporadic. The room was spinning, and Xander was his lifeline. He wanted to change everything, he wanted to ensure this would never happen again, yet every fibre of his being was against the idea. He was stuck like this. He wasn’t getting out of this endless loop of torture, pain and tears.

_Oh, and I miss my lover_

It took everything in his power to trust Xander when he told John he’d be okay if he went back to sleep. He allowed himself to pass out in his husband’s arms, entirely helpless to the world around him. He’d try to get better, he would, and he wouldn’t stop, but the journey ahead would be hard and rough, and it wasn’t something he was particularly looking forward to.

* * *

_The ways in which you talk to me_

Xander stayed close to John for the entire night, after finding him passed out on the kitchen floor. Once ensuring he was safe in bed, he cleaned up the smashed glass, grabbing John’s meds for the morning. Dealing with PTSD wasn’t easy and was certainly a challenge they had to face. Still, he loved John, he loved John with his entire heart and there wasn’t an excuse as to why he’d leave because of John’s trauma. He’d half expected it, to be perfectly honest. He knew The Black and White wouldn’t let John get off _that_ easily. It wasn’t generous. It was cruel, cold and sinister, as was the man held captive there with that doll, that stupid green doll.

It only made sense that Xander _had_ to be hospitalised because he hadn’t believed John when he’d said Cross had come back. They were stubborn, they both were, and weren’t particularly fond of letting their guards down. Yet, after he’d been in hospital, and had been away from his husband when John needed him the most, it was hard to ignore the distress in John’s voice when he spoke to him. Why hadn’t he seen it earlier? He wasn’t sure.

_Have me wishin’ I were gone_

Yet, now he was by John’s side, he’d made a sworn decision to protect him from the dangers of the universe. He knew John was fully capable of doing it himself when he was on the field, but because he was off and on desk duty, like Xander, he needed that extra bit of support. John got antsy when he couldn’t move around, constantly needing something to keep his mind running, which was difficult when all he could do was give out missions and not participate in them. But John? John was strong no matter what. Even in his weakest times, his darkest moments, he remained strong, he pulled through. But this time, Xander wasn’t too sure if he would.

_The ways that you say my name_

The gut-wrenching calls of John as he screamed Xander’s name, desperate for the pain to stop, was the worst thing Xander ever had to experience, and he’d been tortured several times by now in the force. He wanted to make all of John’s problems go away, and he knew it was close enough to impossible. They’d just have to work on him together.

_Have me runnin on and on_

But he wasn’t stopping. Not yet. He wasn’t giving up. Not when John needed him this badly. He was determined to see the day where John put on a true smile again, he’d be there for the day John laughed again with the true emotion behind it, and he’d be there when John became confident again. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was refusing to leave him. Their love was tied in a knot that was found in the single silver band on their hands. He wasn’t going anywhere at all.

_Oh, I’m cramping up_

Holding John tight, while he curled up on his leg, was hard, considering how heavy he was. He was full of muscle, of course he’d be heavy. Xander had muscles himself, but not like John. He had to figure out a way to get him to lie down so Xander could rest his leg, which had been leaned upon for quite some time. Little by little, Xander moved John off of him, lying him on his side. He looked so fragile like that, with tear tracks staining his face. His hair was wild in his face, sticking to it. He was pale, and his face looked hollower. He was still in pain.

_I’m cramping up_

With pins and needles in his side, it was definitely painful as he lay down, wrapping his arms back around John to assure him in his sleep. Though it was only the middle of the day, he knew that, because the general hadn’t been treating himself as fairly as he should have been, that he’d sleep until morning. He wasn’t mad about it. He knew John needed to sleep. At least he could then start the new day with a clearer head.

_But you’re cracking up_

Xander couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He hadn’t had a chance to see the full effect of what was going on with his husband since The Black and White. The shadows were deep and truly made John look like a skeleton. His hair was matted, because John hadn’t had the energy to brush it. The scar on John’s right eye was starting to heal better, no longer scabbed over, and starting to fade to a lighter colour. Somehow, he was unrecognisable, yet by some miracle, Xander knew that was the man he loved. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, feeling John curl in, maybe out of instinct. He swore to himself that he wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t. Not now.

_You’re cracking up_

Xander shut his eyes tightly, a hand placed on John’s upper back, feeling him breathing, reassuring himself that John was still alive. He felt John’s pulse, and though it should have been enough, it wasn’t. What if Xander wasn’t enough? What if he watched John slip from a distance, unable to catch him when he should have been able to. The thought was a poisonous one, and Xander prayed it would stop, but when his anxiety was on a high, it didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He felt warmth gather in his eyes, a bead falling down. Xander shouldn’t be the one crying. Xander _shouldn’t_ be, yet he was, because he was so frightened, so scared of losing John. He couldn’t go through that again.

_I’m Mr. Loverman_

With another gentle squeeze, he let some more tears fall, though John wouldn’t know because he was sleeping. He wanted it to stay that way. They both felt like they had to be strong for the other, when in reality, it was Xander who had to be strong for John. If Xander was staying strong for the love of his life constantly, wouldn’t that be toxic? Why couldn’t he let himself cry? The answer was that he could, but he didn’t know if he’d allow it.

_And I miss my lover, man_

He didn’t stop the tears as he choked back a sob, cuddling John close to him. It wasn’t an easy journey, and it would be much longer until John was restored, but hopefully, with the right treatment, they’d get there. Yes, he was aware PTSD didn’t go away automatically, and most of the time it didn’t go away at all, but he’d be able to restore John’s personality. He’d be there for the man he missed the most.

_I’m Mr. Loverman_

He didn’t mind when John turned in his sleep, his back pressing against Xander’s arms. He could tell that John was peaceful in this type of sleep. He could tell because his breathing was no longer irregular, and that he seemed calm. He was calm, finally. Xander moved his arm to wipe his tears, before he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on John’s hair. After, he got up off the bed and flicked the lights off, shutting the curtains. He walked down, made himself more coffee, and grabbed his laptop, before he walked back up. He had to keep working for John to remain calm. That was the only logic that blinded Xander so far.

_Oh and I miss my lover_

He let the tears continue to fall as he loaded the screen on his laptop, one hand running through John’s hair. It had calmed him a lot, the texture and the colour, it was his reminder of John. Gold had always been significant for them, for it had been the colour of the eyeliner he’d worn at their second pride, it had been the colour of the sky when they woke up after a particularly horrid mission, it was the colour of John’s hair. Xander wore gold a lot more. It became his favourite colour, like how blue became John’s. Originally, Xander’s favourite colour had been blue because of John’s eyes, and John’s had been a deep red. They’d influenced each other. Hopefully, if Xander stayed positive, he could continue to influence John.

_I’ve shattered now I’m spilling out_

It was becoming harder to see the screen as there were more tears replacing old ones. The thought of John falling lower stuck with him. He shook his head, closing the lid of his laptop, realising there wasn’t any point for him to attempt to do his work when he could hardly focus. He took a sip of coffee as he put the laptop back in his bag, leaning it against the cabinet. His hands grabbed his medication bottle and took the right dosage with another swig of coffee. Maybe it’d calm his anxiety.

_Upon this linoleum ground_

He shuddered, suddenly going cold, walking back over to the window, shutting it. He didn’t know where the sudden chill had come from, but it was an unpleasant sensation either way. He got back under the covers and wrapped his arms around John, warmth coming back to him. John turned again, hugging him back, and Xander couldn’t help but bury into him. He was truly in love with him, and he was hurting. It was a difficult time, and though understandable, was still upsetting for Xander. Still, the smell of John’s hair bought him back.

_I’m reeling in my brain again_

It was always John to bring him back. He was stunning no matter what he did. Yes, they fought, but who didn’t? Most of the time, he knew what to say, and when he didn’t, he always let Xander curl around him. His apologies were always sincere, and he never pushed the boundaries. He was amazing. He had this scent, and it was so calming to Xander, because it was home. It was whiskey combined with the distinct smell of old paper. _That_ was John, and it was something Xander took pleasure in.

_Before it can get back to you_

But John was slowly fading, just like everyone else in and around the precinct was. PTSD certainly was _not_ easy to live with, and it was certainly something people _had_ to know how to deal with after Black Friday. It was hard on the families, the friends, and the coworkers of agents affected. Unfortunately, _everyone_ at PEIP fit under that category.

_Oh what am I supposed to do without you?_

He looked at John. He was sound asleep, just like Xander had expected him to be. Giving up on tasks for that day, he shuffled back underneath the covers and kissed John’s forehead, wrapping his arms around the general, as his own eyes fluttered shut, a soft yet sad song playing in the back of his mind as he drifted into another dreamless sleep.

_I'm Mr. Loverman  
And I miss my lover, man  
I'm Mr. Loverman  
Oh and I miss my lover_

_I'm Mr. Loverman  
And I miss my lover, man  
I'm Mr. Loverman  
And I miss my lover_

**Author's Note:**

> so the songs currently used for my 20 day challenge are  
> 1\. Married In Vegas - The Vamps  
> 2\. Share Your Address - Ben Platt  
> 3\. Mr Loverman - Rick Montgomery
> 
> as always, kind comments and kudos appreciated!!


End file.
